Irreconcilable
by teethlikedog
Summary: Repent, and kneel before your god. [St. Michael arc]


Based on the St. Michael arc (volume 4, chapters 20 & 21) but set before the timeline used in the manga, i.e. before people start dying. Contains rambling thought processes, mentions of yaoi (obviously) and religious themes. I just love writing about minor characters! :3

_**Irreconcilable**_

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been three weeks since my last confession."

His voice was hardly more than a whisper in the echoing silence of the chapel, though there was no need for hushed tones; there was nobody else outside awaiting reconciliation. It was only compulsory for the students to attend confession twice a year, at Easter and Christmas, since it would be unfitting to enter those holiest of seasons while not in a state of grace. Beyond that, Mitani knew that the boys rarely sought absolution; they were young, and gifted with youth's invulnerability. As far as they were concerned, nothing could ever touch them and most of what the Church might call "sin" they called "living". They'd rather boast about their exploits to their friends than confess them in dark-cloaked guilt to an old, dried-out man.

Because at their age, they all secretly knew that they were immortal; they would never die, would never have to stand before divine judgement.

Mitani himself wasn't too much older than these boys - this had been his first teaching post, and oh, how many dreams and ambitions he had been filled with walking through those doors! He was going to be as good a teacher as he possibly could, was going to inspire his students with the same passion for history and reverence for the Catholic tradition that he had learned. He was going to make a difference.

Never had he imagined that it would turn out like this.

"What do you have to confess, my son?"

Confess... Cough up your sins like gouts of phlegm, lay them out in the light, not of day, but of God, and wait for forgiveness. Wait to be told that it was all right, that He had seen, and that He understood and still loved you, because you might be flawed but you were still His - made by him in his image and beloved despite your imperfection.

Mitani couldn't remember when he'd stopped being immortal, but he had the feeling it must have been about then that he began to confess regularly. He knew all too well the cruelty of mortality, how it crept upon you in the night, all your guilt and self-loathing crowding in, winding around your legs and flowing into your lungs so you couldn't even scream. And the only way to purge yourself of this horrible, cloying sensation was to confess - to enter that hallowed place and speak the words and bow your head in contrition; and it _would_ be all right. It would.

But was it enough? To come to this place (too much like a coffin, when you thought about it) and _know_ that all you had to do was speak aloud and all would be forgiven - where was the punishment in that? Say you're sorry and a dozen Hail Marys and you can go back about your sinful life.

Was it enough, if you weren't truly sorry? Or if you _were_ sorry, but had no intention of changing your wicked ways?

"I have - I've been jealous, Father."

Jealous, yes, always jealous...seeing _him_ with his classmates, laughing and talking and living so easily - as if it was all natural, as if he felt no guilt for his sin. Jealous of his immortal youth, his freedom from caring. And jealous too of those around him. Because _they_ could approach him, walk up and talk to him without worrying what people would think, whether anyone had noticed or suspected; because of course a teacher couldn't become too friendly with a student, and rumours spread far too easily. And everyone loved the Student Council President, with his ready smile and his outgoing nature - so friendly and helpful, and never disdainful of the younger students, even though many of them worshipped him as a golden idol. Mitani saw it, in the way they gazed adoringly at him, in the way many of them blushed when Izuru laid an amiable hand on their shoulder and smiled so shyly back at him.

Izuru was utterly oblivious to the effect he had, of course. Either that or he simply didn't care, because his gaze would always slide to meet Mitani's (where he was busy pretending to be doing anything other than watching the boy) and his smile would take on an edge whose meaning was crystal clear. Whatever he was to his fellows during the day, that smile said, the nights belonged to them. But still Mitani couldn't hold back the stabbing of jealousy to the pit of his stomach, and was disgusted with himself for that emotion, because it only compounded the sin of his unnatural lust.

To commit such sin, and then to be so jealous and possessive of the object of that sin. It was doubly shameful.

"I have taken the Lord's name in vain."

And he had, groaning the name of the divine from between clenched teeth as his neck arched back and his entire consciousness was lost in white-hot pleasure. And afterwards, panting and tangled together, _God, I love you_ murmured breathily into Izuru's ear as if it was some sort of invocation - as if using the Lord's name proved that this relationship of theirs wasn't an abomination in His eyes, was something less vile than the Church would have them believe. That just made it worse, really, like drawing His attention to their perversion, like casting it in His face.

He didn't even want to think about the times he had whispered it alone at night; _oh God, oh God, oh God_ over and over as silent tears streamed down his face and horror threatened to choke him. No, he would really rather not think about that, not even here.

"Is that all?"

The voice sounded mildly impatient, and Mitani had to wonder how long he'd sat there in silence, contemplating his own shame. How many moments had passed; how many centuries?

"No, I - I've had lustful thoughts, and...acted on them, alone."

It was true, he _had_, thinking of that beautiful, vibrant boy while lying in bed and touching himself in desperation, burning with desire and guilt, and knowing that afterwards he'd still be lying there alone, sweat-soaked and weak and without even his lust to stand between him and reality. God was always watching, he knew, and Mitani could almost imagine the sadness in His gaze - not anger, just disappointment that one of His children, His creations, could degrade himself this way. And that was _all_ he had done, for the longest time; a sin, but not _the _sin.

"Only alone? Or with others?"

Time at last to face his true guilt, to stop skirting around the subject and get to the rotten, twisted root of his sin. He couldn't breathe. He clenched his hands on the wooden ledge below the grating until he thought either the wood or the bones must snap. Shame and fear twisted like twin snakes in his gut, coiling and writhing until he was sure they would tear their way out through his abdomen. His mouth was too dry to speak, his tongue swollen into a great slab of dead meat that couldn't shape itself around the words he knew he had to say; didn't _want_ to say, but knew he must. A small sound - almost the whimper of a hurt animal - fled his throat, faint but too loud in the heavy silence of the confessional.

Parting his lips, he tried to force the words through his sandpaper throat, past his distended tongue.

And words did come.

"N-no...just alone."

"Are you sorry for your sins?"

"Yes."

His mouth had taken a life of its own, that wicked, bloated tongue moving of its own volition to speak words he'd never intended it to. But he was too weak; too weak to fight back against his own mind, too weak to admit the lie. He sagged against the wall of the confession box, his eyes stinging with frustration and shame. He was such a coward.

"Then the Lord will forgive you."

A snatch of muttered monologue drifted through the grating; the priest was speaking the absolution. Mitani felt like crying, knowing how hollow those words were - because he'd broken his side of the bargain, he hadn't confessed his greatest sin. How could God forgive him, if he couldn't even tell the priest what he had done?

"As your penance, say ten Hail Marys, five Our Fathers and an Act of Contrition. God bless you."

It was over. He was dismissed. Mitani dragged himself to his feet - barely able to raise his head - and walked out of the confession box. He knelt on the far side of the chapel and said his penance, the words rolling off his tongue with practiced ease.

_"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners..."_

_"And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil..."_

_"Oh God, I am sorry for all my sins..."_

But it meant less than nothing.

Father Robert emerged from the confession box a few minutes later, and absently nodded a greeting as he walked past, his shoes clicking on the floor. Then Mitani was alone again, under the sad scrutiny of the life-sized sculpture of the crucified Christ that stood behind the altar. Those eyes seemed to stare directly at him, not angry or hate-filled...just sorrowful. It was more than Mitani could take. He got to his feet and practically ran from the chapel, ran from that non-judgement, from that promise of forgiveness if he would only change his sinful ways and repent. Because there was no point in being sorry if you didn't try to change.

After he was gone, the Christ figure continued to direct its soulful gaze downwards, now appearing to promise redemption to a small stain on the chapel floor.

The walk back to Mitani's room was long and lonely, with nothing but the crushing weight of his shame for company, his unspoken guilt pressing in around him and making it difficult to breathe. Finally coming in view of his door, he twisted the door knob and stumbled through.

Inside it was darker than the confessional, but a comforting dark, not musty and oppressive and filled with the echoes of whispered sins. Hands and a voice more gentle than the priest's reached out to him, not knowing what was wrong but promising solace nonetheless. He reached out in return, and took what they offered; shut his eyes and fell forward into that welcoming, sinful embrace.

He might not be forgiven, but here, for a little while, he could forget.


End file.
